


Photosynthesis

by lumiere42



Series: Under The Surface [3]
Category: All Grown Up!, Hannibal (TV), Rugrats
Genre: Crossover, Eating Disorders, Gen, Mental Health Issues, No Cannibalism, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Crackfic Either, the special tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumiere42/pseuds/lumiere42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Photosynthesis."<br/>"What of it?"<br/>"We're...studying it in science. I was wishing people could do that. I'd never have to worry about eating or weight again...since when were there ever...fat plants?"<br/>"Some trees are quite large. And plants must be concerned with both drought and winter."<br/>*********<br/>In which both Angelica and her shrink have had a BAD week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photosynthesis

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after 1x08 ("Fromage") in "Hannibal" timeline.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing copyrighted herein. Homage, no $$$ made

"Look, Susie, can we just focus on this assignment? I don't really want to talk about this anymore, and it's not like we've got all night to get this done."

She puts as much edge into her voice as she dares. If they were someplace else, she'd do it louder, since neither polite subject-changing nor total refusal have gotten Susie to just _back off_ already. Usually, when this happens, her next step involves using the same voice her mom uses when she's ripping into a business associate - or better yet, the one she uses on her assistant - but there's only so loud you can be in Java Lava before one Finster or another calls you out on it. Besides, she needs Susie's help with this homework.

"I just think you're being too hard on him, is all."

"Too hard on _him?_ What about how hard he's made everything for _me_ , Susie? He - "

"Order up!" Mr. Finster waves at them from behind the counter. The cups he's holding up must be theirs. The raincoat-swathed woman in the far corner booth is already eating, in between checking on the blanket-draped baby in the carrier next to her. There's no one else in here right now (except Chuckie and Kimi, busy cleaning an espresso machine and flicking coffee beans at each other when Mr. Finster's not looking).

"'Scuse me." Susie goes over to get the drinks.

The windows are fogged, condensation running down them in streaks. The sleet is still falling outside, intermittent tapping against the glass. It's a lot warmer in here than out there, she knows that, but it doesn't really feel like it. She hasn't even unbuttoned her coat yet. She hates this coat. It's too long and too dated. But today all she cares about is being warm.

Susie slides back into the booth, fumbling with cups and plastic spoons and napkins. "Mocha grande for me - " she hands the other cup across the table - "latte for you." The latte has a thick little peak of whipped cream on it. She _definitely_ hadn't asked for _that_. She thinks about going over and demanding a new one, maybe pointing out that whipped cream doesn't even really qualify as _food_ , for God's sake. Except that Mr. Finster would probably tell her parents.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Mr. Finster says it's on the house this time. Because of the lousy weather."

Well, that settles it. She'd feel bad about complaining now.

"Your parents gave your allowance back?"

"Yeah." She starts scraping the cream off the latte, spooning it onto a napkin, carefully avoiding her open notebook with its half-finished photosynthesis cycle diagram. "Why are we studying plant growth in the _winter_ , anyway? It's barely March."

"Who knows? Look, about Phil - "

"You mean _Ratfink_ Deville, formerly _known_ as Phil?"

"Angelica, we all know Phil's not exactly the brightest crayon in the box when it comes to common sense."

"No kidding."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to. Look, I know he's a dork a lot of the time, but he's just worried about you, all right?" Susie stares into her cup. "We all are."

 _Thanks, Susie, I really need ANOTHER giant serving of guilt to deal with_. "That's another thing. Everybody being _concerned_. I'm doing fine, okay? The doctor even said I can eat real food again, whch is great, because there's only so many smoothies one human being can stand." She smiles, widening her eyes a little for extra sincerity. People believe almost anything if you smile the right way when you say it. "Let's just deal with these diagrams. I have to be you-know-where at 6:30."

"I don't know how you do _that._ " Susie starts riffling through the biology book. "I couldn't stand having to talk about my problems with some total stranger. What if they turned out to be a jerk?"

"The last shrink _was_ kind of a jerk. Dr. Lecter's okay, though. Besides, it's not like I get a choice."

The baby in the corner starts whimpering, then crying in little hiccuping sobs. The woman digs into her enormous canvas bag and retrieves a bottle. The baby starts crying louder upon seeing it, kicking its booteed feet and grabbing for it.

"Angelica?" Susie's whispering. "You're staring at those people."

"I'm...thinking." The baby quiets immediately once the bottle's in its mouth, clutching it with both hands, focusing all its energy on nursing. "Babies are lucky, you know that?"

"Huh?"

"They get hungry, they cry, someone feeds them, they eat and they're happy. Nobody ever questions it. They don't have to think about it or analyze it or...anything...they can just _do_ it." Susie's looking at her really strangely now. _Subject change needed_. "Did you find the diagram?"

"Yeah. Here. Page 182."

"Thanks."

*********

Dr. Lecter's waiting room really _is_ cold. She knows it's not just her, not when the air here has almost the same sharp tang upon breathing it as the air outside. She hunches up on the couch and waits.

It's longer than usual this time before the office door clicks open. She looks up, then stares. Dr. Lecter's wrapped in a knee-length black coat, not so weird considering the temperature in here. But he's also got a black eye and a split lip and a ring of dark bruises on his neck, and that's _definitely_ strange.

"Angelica. Come in."

She follows him into the office. It's like a cave in here, dark and cold and slightly damp. The only light is the desk lamp and - _hm_ \- the flickering orange of a pretty respectable fire going in the fireplace. The chairs have been moved, near the hearth. The side table is there too, with two cups, one full and one nearly empty.

"I apologize for the lack of heat." Dr. Lecter's voice sounds a little raspy. "The furnace stopped working this morning, and tomorrow is the soonest anyone can come for repairs."

"That's okay." The fire's radiant heat on her legs is really nice, better than central heating, actually. She considers the chair, then picks up the cup and saucer and sits down cross-legged on the floor instead. Dr. Lecter lowers himself into the other chair, slowly and stiffly, and leans forward a little.

She looks up at him. "What happened to _you_?"

A beat of silence, then: "There was...an extremely unfortunate incident with a client."

"Wow. Occupational hazard, huh?"

"You could say that. It's not as bad as it looks." His smile has no real humor in it.

"I guess we both had a bad week."

"Returning to school has been difficult?"

"It was okay till my _so-called_ friend Phil opened his big yap. He told some people what I was really out for. Now - " she shrugs - "practically everyone in school knows about my...little problem."

 "That troubles you."

 "Troubles? Some of my friends don't even want to _talk_ to me anymore. Savannah, Brianna, Darryl, they've all been avoiding me. Harold hasn't, but nothing makes _him_ go away for long."

"He sounds very loyal."

"Yeah, the way a dog is loyal if - you know how you can feed some dogs just once, even something that's not really _food_ , and they'll follow you around forever afterward? That's Harold."

"What did you feed him?"

"I meant metaphorically."

"So did I."

She sighs. "He's...had a crush on me since preschool. God only knows _why_."

"Perhaps he doesn't think as little of you as you think of yourself."

She can't think of anything to say to that. "I kind of understand them being freaked out at first, but there's no need to _avoid_ me, you know? And it's not only them. Some of the other kids whisper about it around me. This one guy, in English class? He was making barfing sounds at me when I'd walk in the classroom. At least, till Ms. O'Keats heard him and gave him a week's detention."

"That is inexcusable behavior. I'm pleased your teacher dealt with it."

"Yeah. Except then she kept me after class for this whole long wordy spiel about how she's _concerned_ and she'd been _worried_ about me, and I can come talk to her if I need to." She makes a face, remembering. "I just kept nodding along. I didn't want to be mean. Especially since she's also in charge of the school paper, and I don't want to lose my place there."

"Why does her showing concern disturb you?" Dr. Lecter's looking at her intently enough to make her drop her own gaze.

Suddenly she doesn't want to be still anymore. She stands up, moving carefully to avoid the usual surge of lightheadedness, and starts pacing: behind the chairs, back and forth between them and the desk. "I'm...tired of people fussing over me about it. It's like, can we just _forget_ about it and get _on_ with things?"

"The people who care about you cannot simply _forget_ that you nearly died." He's turned in the chair so he can keep watching her. She focuses on the toes of her boots and how the carpet pattern seems to swim past them as she paces.

"I wish they would. I wish _everybody_ would. I'm not even sure I buy that it was really that dangerous."

"I can assure you that it was. I requested copies of your medical records from Dr. Baumann. The damage you did to yourself was genuinely life-threatening."

"I don't think I _care_."

"If you cannot, try to at least allow others the option of doing so. Your friend Phil - did he have any malicious intent?"

"Huh? Oh. Probably not. I mean, when I say he's my friend, I really mean we grew up together and know each other really well because of that. We've fought a lot over the years. He wouldn't deliberately be that mean, though."

"Can you allow room for a thoughtless misstep on his part, as well?"

She sighs. "I'll try."

"Good. Now. Regarding what I left you with at the end of last session - "

"That." She laughs a little. "A _real_ shrink question, Doctor. Why didn't you just say, _Tell me more about your parents, Angelica_?"

Dr. Lecter smiles. "I used to ask clients exactly that. Then someone I respect a great deal told me it was lazy psychiatry. I decided he was right. But, since you brought it up, continue."

"There's not much to tell. They've always been really good to me. Maybe _too_ good. A lot of people have said I'm spoiled. But hey, if my parents had the money and they wanted to spend it on their kid, whose business is it? They were always really encouraging. I got lessons in practically everything growing up, art, ballet, piano - the only thing they never tried was sports, and that's because I still couldn't tell my right foot from my left after a year and a half of dance. Probably the worst thing you could say is they _maybe_ told me I was good at stuff I really wasn't, sometimes." She turns and moves closer to the desk, putting her hand on it and studying how it looks against the wood grain. "What is this, mahogany?"

"It's interesting that you speak of your parents in such terms, when we have already established that they were unrealistic about food and your appearance."

She's shivering a little again. The warmth from the tea is gone already. "Well...I guess. But my mom just had my best interests in mind. I mean, little kids _don't_ need to be eating junk food, and - appearance is important. She didn't _mean_ anything by it." She walks around to the other side of the desk. The soft, high rustling is in the air around her again for a moment, more felt than heard. _What is that? It can't be the ventilation system, not this time._

Silence, except the slight popping of the fire. Then, Dr. Lecter's voice: "Have you noticed that you've been gradually putting more space between us all session? Particularly when we brought up your parents. Once we did that, you went so far as to put an actual, physical barrier in front of yourself."

She stares down at the desk, tilting her head slightly, looking at the things on it. Blotter, jar of pens, file folders. The ever-present black sketchbook. She wonders what the story is with that sketchbook. "You wanna...try to read something...profound into that?"

"I simply wanted you to be aware of it."

Hands enter her visual field suddenly, resting on the desk across from her. Long fingers, the knuckles bruised and split. She looks up at Dr. Lecter's face. His eyes are pale and clear in this light.

"You move really quiet," she says.

"I apologize if I startled you." He seems to be waiting. She's not sure what for. Words are swimming around in her head, she picks one from the blur -

"Photosynthesis."

"What of it?"

"We're...studying it in science. I was wishing people could do that. I'd never have to worry about eating or weight again...since when were there ever...fat plants?"

"Some trees are quite large. And plants must be concerned with both drought and winter."

The clock chimes, and she jumps a little. The sound's coming from in here. Dr. Lecter must have moved it. She turns toward the door.

"Your assignment for next time, Miss Pickles?"

She turns back. "Yes?"

"I don't believe I need to write this down. It's not something for you to ponder, rather, two things for you to do. First: contact your friend Phil, try to come to some kind of truce. Second: the collection of weight-loss-inspiration pictures I'm certain you have. Bring it to our next meeting."

"How'd you know about _that_?"

"So you _do_ have one. Most people with your issue do."

She glares at him. "I hate how sneaky you are."

A knock on the waiting room door, and then Uncle Stu's shaggy head poking in. "Angelica? You ready? Jeez, it's freezing in here."

*********

11 p.m., and she still can't sleep. Sleeping hasn't been easy since all this started. Lying still for too long starts hurting her in places she didn't know she had. Dr. Baumann had said it was because her bones didn't have enough padding anymore. In a way, she doesn't mind. It means she's still thin, at least by everyone else's definition.

When she can't take staring at the ceiling anymore, she slides out of bed, moving her legs carefully so as not to disturb Fluffy's sleep. She puts a pillow on the desk chair before sitting down, so it won't hurt her tailbone, and opens up the laptop.

 _From_ : princess_angel10@nmail.com

 _To_ : Awesomer_twin@nmail.com

 _Subj_ : About this week...

_Hey, Phil? Can we talk?_


End file.
